


Crimson Rosella

by MillicentCordelia



Series: The Private Lives of David and Goliath [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gablepot, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rare Pairings, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/pseuds/MillicentCordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald and Gabe enjoy a most excellent day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Rosella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leoben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoben/gifts).



Gabe sat at the bar, pretending that a stack of receipts and invoices had his full attention. He’d positioned himself so he could watch the three people conversing in the front of the empty club. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see their body language. 

One of them was his employer, Oswald Cobblepot. Next, was Sofia Falcone Gigante, who’d recently replaced her father as head of the Falcone crime syndicate; and finally Victor Zsasz, Sofia’s bodyguard. 

Sofia and Oswald seemed to be equally matched, as they fawned over each other, all fake smiles and phony compliments, competing to see who could be the most ingratiating. Sofia was petite, raven haired and fine boned, with eyes such a pale, watery blue they seemed pigmentless. It was her peculiar eyes that kept her from being a beauty. That, and the way she moved; even sitting in a chair, he could see a faint rippling of her muscles under her skin, the way a snake looked when it was coiling to strike. 

He didn’t trust her one bit, but he also knew Oswald could take care of himself. Oswald was stronger, and more dangerous, than most people understood. He was cunning, manipulative; he could act, as if he were a professional. He lied as easily as he breathed. He’d do whatever he had to do, because he had a will like iron. It was his determination that made him dangerous. He could weep on cue, whine, plead, or cut someone’s throat with equal ease. Because he was small in stature, he’d learned to compensate. He made himself look harmless, used it to his advantage. Underneath it all was rage. 

Smart men knew that if you kicked a dog often enough, you made it vicious. Smart men knew that if you hurt someone often enough, someone you thought was weaker than you, you were takin’ a chance on having your ass handed to you in such a way that you never saw it comin’. Don Maroni and Don Falcone had forgotten that. Gabe figured neither of ‘em had been as smart as they thought they were.

Victor sat back, as far away as he could get from either of the others. He looked as if he wanted to murder someone; meaning, he looked just like he always did. 

Butch stopped stacking glassware behind the bar to nudge Gabe. “How d’you think it’s goin’?

“Same as always. They’ll strike a deal, then get busy tryin’ to double-cross each other.”

“Uh, Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

Butch fiddled with a stack of towels, looking as uncomfortable as Gabe had ever seen him. “I, uh.....oh hell. I need to apologize. For walking in on you and Oswald when you were, well...you know.”

Gabe raised his eyebrows. “You gonna tell me you never seen two guys do that before? Seriously, it’s a common thing.”

“Not around here, not in my experience. I mean...when did you even get started doing that?”

“In middle school. It’s a lot of fun; actually, you oughta give it a try. I could show you how to get started.”

“Nah, not me. I mean, to each their own.”

“All right, then. I had no idea it’d freak you out so bad, to walk in on two guys playin’ chess.”

“It’s somethin’ scientists and college professors do, not people like us. People like us play poker.”

Gabe chuckled. “I’m not givin’ up poker. Don’t worry about it.”

‘People like us’, Gabe thought. Goons, thugs, tough guys. Gabe was used to being thought of as a brainless gorilla. His size had gotten him into his current line of work, and ensured his success. The hard part had been getting used to the fact that people expected him to be simpleminded. Sure, he was a giant, but that didn’t make him a half-wit. 

He read a book once, called “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest”. There was a character in it, Chief Bromden, who was a Native American and a mountain of a man. After a lifetime of being ignored, Bromden pretended to be deaf and dumb. 

Gabe could relate to that. 

Oswald walked with Sofia, and her dour escort, towards the front door. When he returned, he was clearly overjoyed with the results of the morning’s meeting.

Gabe reached out to brush some lint off Oswald’s jacket.. “You look really happy. Feel like celebrating?”

“Absolutely! What did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise. I’ll bring the car around.”  
____________

Gabe pulled up and parked near the entrance of the Gotham Botanical Gardens. 

“Oh, I love this place! Thank you, Gabe!”

“This isn’t the surprise, it’s inside.” Gabe took out his card, and walked with Oswald to the ‘members only’ entrance.

“I didn’t know you were a member. You’re a man of many surprises.”

“I love this place, too. It’s peaceful. I used to bring the kids here when they were little. And to the zoo, the natural history museum, the planetarium. All that.”

“Where are your younger brothers and sisters now?” Oswald queried.

“They all got college degrees. One’s a pharmacist in Cleveland. One’s a teacher, in Boston. Three of ‘em run a restaurant together, in New Orleans. Very successful.” Gabe beamed, clearly proud. “ The youngest, Mary Katherine, she’s a lawyer in Baltimore. I see her the most often.”

Oswald looked at Gabe, curiously. “You helped them all get through college. But you never finished college yourself, did you?” 

“Nah, didn’t need to, in my line of work.”

They walked along in silence, down a winding path that led them through a grove of Japanese maples. “There’s the surprise!” Gabe pointed at a large tent-like structure, the sides of which were made of nylon mesh. They could hear laughter, and squeals of delight, coming from within. “It’s a budgie exhibit.”

“Budgies? How perfectly delightful!” Oswald grabbed Gabe, hugging him around the waist, then took off for the tent-as fast as his bad leg would allow him to. Inside, dozens of colorful parakeets flew to and fro.

“Look, Gabe! He’s sitting on my finger!” Oswald was eye to eye with one of the little birds.

“Here.” Gabe handed Oswald a stick with a clump of birdseed at the end. Soon, several birds were perched on it.

“Aren’t they adorable!” Oswald cooed at the birds, who seemed to like him as much as he liked them. A bright red one landed on his head and began nibbling at his hair. 

Gabe loved seeing Oswald happy. It was impossible to reconcile the image of the hard-boiled gangster with the man who stood next to him in the budgie exhibit; Gabe had given up trying. It seemed like Oswald sometimes forgot he was supposed to be a crime lord, and reverted to being about eight years old. One night, they’d climbed out on the roof of the club to watch a meteor shower. When he saw a falling star, Oswald’s face had lit up, like a little kid, and he’d giggled.  
Time passed too quickly; too soon, they had to leave. On the way back to the car, Gabe asked Oswald, “How come you don’t have any pets? You really seem to like those birds.”

“I’ve thought about it. I just can’t decide between a bird, or a kitten. You’ve got to admit, getting both might not be the best idea.”

At that moment, Oswald tripped, on an uneven patch of ground; he would’ve fallen, if Gabe hadn’t caught him. 

“How clumsy of me.” He clung to Gabe, who set him upright. Gabe was in no hurry to let go; he wrapped his arms around Oswald’s slender frame, allowing one of his hands to wander to the younger man’s hip. Oswald blushed. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In the car, on the way back, Oswald fell sound asleep. 

Gabe had been enjoying the time he and Oswald spent together. Sometimes playing chess, sometimes just drinking and talking. He’d started to think of Oswald as a friend. He was smarter than the people Gabe usually met; he saw the world differently, knew there was more to life than some dirty slum in Gotham. He could talk about films, and books, and art; and places he wanted to see someday. 

Sometimes, though, Gabe felt terribly inadequate around Oswald. Oswald was small, and delicate; like one of the birds they’d just seen. He spoke French; he had his suits made by the best tailor in Gotham; he smelled...wonderful. Gabe didn’t know yet what cologne Oswald used, but he knew it wasn’t cheap. When he was excited, he talked with his hands; beautiful, graceful hands, so unlike Gabe’s huge clumsy paws. Sometimes Gabe felt like a hulking lummox by comparison. Oswald spent a lot of time on his appearance; lining his eyes, styling his hair. Together, he felt that he and Oswald must look like beauty and the Bigfoot.  
____________

When they returned, sitting in the club were two uninvited guests. One of them was the one person in the known universe that Gabe least wanted to see.

“Detectives! What can we do for you this afternoon?” Oswald was smooth as silk.

Gordon stood up. “A word, please?”

Oswald led the way to his office. 

Inwardly, Gabe fumed. It irritated him, the way Oswald catered to that jerk. The way Oswald glowed, whenever Jim entered the room. Yeah, yeah, the guy looked like a male model; all blonde hair and rippling muscles, and taut abs and...whatever. Gabe turned his attention to Harvey Bullock. 

“So, is this table reserved for the ugly stepsisters? C’mon up to the bar, I’ll get you a drink.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Harvey downed his first drink, and smiled broadly when Gabe poured him another. “Hey, Butch, what’s goin’ on?”

“Not much, what’s new at the precinct?”

“You heard about Alvarez’ wife catching him with those two hookers? Aw, this is a good one.....”

The two men were soon engrossed in lewd gossip, while Gabe wondered what Detective Pretty Boy was wanting from Oswald.

After a while, they were interrupted by a liquor delivery, for something Butch wasn’t sure they’d ordered. Gabe jumped at the excuse to knock on the door of Oswald’s office.

“Mr. Cobblepot. Excuse me for interrupting, but Butch says there’s a problem with a delivery up front. “

Oswald exhaled sharply. The look in his eyes was murderous; but he recovered quickly, speaking sweetly to his guest. “Jim, please make yourself at home. I’ll only be a moment.” He shut the door when he left.

Gabe sat down on a plush loveseat, and folded his hands over his stomach.

“Hello, Gabe. How are you?” Gordon spoke in an absent-minded way, halfway acknowledging Gabe’s presence; but obviously neither expecting nor desiring a real answer.

“A lot better than you’re going to be, if you don’t stop wiping your feet on Mr. Cobblepot.”

The disbelief on Gordon’s face was comical. “What?!?”

“You heard me. You never come around unless you need something. You know Mr. Cobblepot’ll do what you ask, because he’s got a thing for you. He’s crazy about you, everybody sees it. You use that to your advantage. Sometimes you’re almost nice to him, until you get what you want. But mostly, you’re mean to him. You talk bad to him, rough him up. Because he lets you. Because you know you can.”

“You can’t talk to me like this!”

“Why not? Because you’re such an honest, good, upstanding person? That’s horseshit, and we both know it. I know what you are, so don’t bother puffing yourself up. You’re a bully. And this is just a friendly little talk, to let you know: if you don’t stop disrespecting Mr. Cobblepot, I’m gonna come find you, and we’re gonna have a different kind of talk. One where I fuck you up. One where I tear your head off your neck and shove it up your worthless ass.”

Gabe smiled pleasantly.

Oswald appeared in the doorway. “Again, my apologies, Jim. You can imagine how it is when you own your own business. Can I get you something?” He suddenly seemed to remember that Gabe was there. “That’ll be all, Gabriel.”

Gabe turned his head so Oswald couldn’t see him wince, as he was dismissed. Fine. He had no desire to watch Oswald making a fuss over a shitweasel. He nodded, and left. 

Gordon didn’t stay much longer.

When the detectives left, Oswald called Gabe into his office, and asked him to sit down.

“Detective Gordon dropped by to ask me some questions about Sofia Falcone. He was very interested in what I had to say; and then suddenly, he said he wasn’t feeling well. That he’d eaten something for lunch that didn’t agree with him.”

“That happens.”

“Did the two of you happen to have a ...chat, while I was out of the room?”

“We talked about his health.” Well, it was true.

“Gabe. Tell me.”

“Maybe I said something about his manners. Maybe I said something about how he thinks he’s God’s gift to Gotham, or how he probably kisses himself good morning when he shaves.” He met Oswald’s eyes. “Look, I know how you feel about him, I’m not blind. You let him get away with murder. I’m sick of watching him treat you bad, and what I’d really like to do is get hold of that pretty neck of his and shake him the way a dog shakes a rat. I’m sorry, I shoulda kept my mouth shut.”

Oswald stared at Gabe as if seeing him for the first time. “You stuck up for me. You stuck up for me, behind my back. Nobody’s ever done that before.” He limped towards Gabe. “Why did you do that?”

Gabe just looked at him. Oswald reached out, and gently placed a hand on the side of Gabe’s face. 

After a moment, Gabe covered Oswald’s pale, delicate hand with his own; turned his head, and pressed a kiss into the palm of Oswald’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> A Crimson Rosella is a beautiful little bird, the kind that was sitting on Oswald's head.


End file.
